


Blinding Love

by LokianaWinchester



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Christmas, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Canon, Twenty Years Later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-21 05:56:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17037983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokianaWinchester/pseuds/LokianaWinchester
Summary: Twenty years after they first met, Napoleon and Illya still have not confessed their feelings. It is Christmas and they spend it together, but this time one of them cannot hold it in anymore.





	Blinding Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Macaron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macaron/gifts).



> Dear receiver of this gift, I hope you have a nice holiday season and a happy new year <3

It had been years since Napoleon had thought about actually changing anything about their situation. Occasionally, he thought about what could be, what he could have had; what he wanted. But he no longer had any hope of changing anything, so he did not.

If he had once thought Illya had feelings for him as well, he was sure of the opposite now. They would have shown by now.

It was twenty years since they had first met. Napoleon remembered how his negative feelings, hate, anger, even jealousy towards the Russian’s dedication and endurance, had soon turned into fascination, into an infatuation that bordered on obsession. Napoleon had never before and never after felt like this for another person. And for a time he had been sure that Illya felt the same. There were glances and touches, ambiguous sentences, that Napoleon could not interpret differently; but neither of them had ever acted on anything.

Napoleon had held back, because the risk of losing Illya was too big. If he did not have Illya any longer, if he pulled back, started to distance himself from Napoleon, there was no way of telling what he would do.

Even now that Napoleon had come to terms with the sad fact that Illya did not like him back, he could never bear if Illya left or if he came to hate Napoleon.

They did not see each other as frequently anymore, ever since they stopped going on missions and remained at U.N.C.L.E. as mission planners and intelligence operatives. But it was nearly Christmas and a couple of years after their first mission, they had started to spend them together.

Illya was going to stay with Napoleon for three days leading up to Christmas and subsequently, Napoleon would come with Illya to his place until the new year.

It was a comfortable arrangement. Napoleon was lost in thoughts and memories of past Christmas celebrations, that the door-bell startled him.

Illya was still gorgeous. His hair was mostly grey, there were lines on his face that had not been there before, scars on his skin, most of which Napoleon knew, because he had been a witness to their creation. There was the slight limp; a result of their last joint mission where Illya had his thigh bone shattered. An ugly affair.

And yet, the man still towered over Napoleon with his unbelievable presence.

“Cowboy!” A smile lit up Illya’s face, reached his eyes - those beautiful blue eyes, that Napoleon wanted to drown himself in.

“Peril. Come in.” Napoleon stepped aside to let him in. Each time Illya visited him, it felt like their lives were somehow even tighter entwined.

* * *

 

Napoleon had made dinner, after which they sat down on the sofas in the living room with a mug of tea each. They always needed space when they met again after being apart for a longer period of time. For the first day or two, they sat far apart, mostly talked about non-consequential things.

Napoleon looked at Illya across the table, tried to make out his thoughts, but Illya did not give way; even after all those years, Napoleon still could not read him. Maybe Illya had just become better at masking his thoughts and feelings. Stoically he looked at the wall behind Napoleon.

“I must tell you,” he spoke up.

Napoleon cocked his head in inquiry.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing will change, yes?” Illya asked. Napoleon did not know what to answer. “No matter what I say, nothing will change. Promise me.”

“Okay,” Napoleon said. His heart was beating fast, hard, as if it was trying to escape his chest. Illya’s accent was getting more noticeable when he was nervous. Years and years of working together, living together, studying each other had taught this to Napoleon. The accent only made Illya even more attractive.

“Is not easy for me to say,” Illya continued. He took a sip of his tea. “You are friend. Good friend.”

He looked at Napoleon, met his eyes and smiled sadly.

“Best friend I ever had. Thank you for that.”

“Of course,” Napoleon replied. “You too.”

Illya nodded.

“Is only fair that I tell you. After all is Christmas; love, friendships, honesty... those things are important.”

Napoleon took a deep breath. He did not even dare speculate, what it could be that Illya was about to confess. Was he ill? Was he thinking of retiring? Moving away? Had he found somebody to live with - somebody to love? Or a replacement for Napoleon?

“I don’t want to ruin friendship, but I don’t want to live with secret any more. I want to be open to you. Just - please -“ Napoleon saw him take a deep breath.

“Please don’t think something has to change.”

Napoleon nodded, a jerked motion, inelegant, rushed, uncomfortable.

“I hated you when I first met you; American, too clever for your own good, terrible spy.” They both grinned.

“And then I stopped hating you and started hating myself.”

Napoleon knew this. Illya had gone through a rough time about a year after they first met.

“I’m okay now. Have been for long time, but it still bothers me and I want peace with myself, finally.”

Illya set his mug down on the table and stood up. Napoleon swallowed. It only took Illya a few steps to reach him and sit down next to him. Their thighs were touching; Illya was a warm, steadying presence at Napoleon’s side. As he always was.

“You are most important to me, Cowboy. I could not live without you and I don’t want to. I understand if you want distance after this, but please don’t leave.”

Napoleon’s hand was shaking. He set his mug down as well.

“All I want to say is I love you, Napoleon. I fell in love almost twenty years ago and it never went away. Never.”

Napoleon was shocked. The words echoed within his mind; he blinked, as if that would help him process them. And maybe it did help, because suddenly everything clicked into place.

“Is okay. I’ll go, give you space.” Illya moved to get up, to leave, but Napoleon grabbed his wrist.

“No,” he said. A tear was rolling down his cheek and he felt like he was falling apart, shaking with emotions, but his voice and his hand were steady.

“I love you too, Peril. I love you so goddamn much, but I could never read you, I was never sure. I need you in my life, so I was quiet and I stayed quiet and I would have stayed quiet forever and died with this secret, just to keep you close as a friend, no matter how much it hurt. I was just not prepared to give you up and I didn’t wanna fuck anything up and to do what you did... I couldn’t get myse-“

Illya’s lips were soft but firm, opening to slip his tongue between Napoleon’s. He was dimly aware of the whine escaping his throat, but his entire concentration was on Illya; the way he touched Napoleon, a hand clasped over Napoleon’s, the other against his cheek, holding him in place, kissing him so intensely that Napoleon was dizzy by the time they broke apart.

“Oh my god,” he muttered. Illya’s coarse fingertips stroked his cheek, wiped away the tears, his eyes seemed to pull Napoleon in. He moved, went to straddle Illya, one leg at each side of him.

“Is this okay?” he asked, acutely aware of Illya’s bad leg.

“Yes,” the Russian sighed before leaning in and capturing Napoleon’s lips again.

“I love you,” Napoleon muttered between kisses.

‘Finally I can say it; finally I can tell him,’ he thought. Too long he had held back.

Never would he have guessed that Illya would be the one to initiate anything between them, never would he have guessed that Illya had any feelings for him at all.

Perhaps it was time for Napoleon to invest in those glasses, Illya kept playfully nagging him about. Maybe he was really turning blind.

Or maybe it was just his love, that had blinded him in the most unconventional and painful of ways.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank yall for reading; kudos and comments are, as always, greatly appreciated.


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